


Skin

by Zaikyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Possession, Samifer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 11:15:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaikyo/pseuds/Zaikyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But I have to say, I like this much more than Prada," the Devil says, circling his reflection in the mirror like a thing he can't hold off in devouring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin

**Author's Note:**

> My mind before writing this:
> 
> "Should I?  
> Naw.  
> Should I??  
> Maybe?  
> Should—  
> Don't be a bitch about this.  
> OKAY."
> 
> •u•

" _Get out_ ," Sam wants to say. And he knows Lucifer knows that. " _Get out of me_ ," he could scream, if, he could scream. But it still doesn't matter, because Lucifer knows just the same.

 

"It feels good to be home," he says, flexing the joints of his new vessel's fingers. "I can't tell you how perfect you feel, Sam."

And that's wrong. Sam knows it's wrong. But there isn't much to do about it.

 

"They say the Devil wears Prada." A laugh. "But I have to say I like this much more than Prada," the Devil muses, circling his reflection in the mirror like a thing he can't hold off in devouring. "Prada is fake. Prada is phony." He smirks, dragging a finger along the soft skin of Sam's bottom lip. "But this is real. This is _all_ real.

 

Look at us, Sam."

 

Fingers trail like fleeting questions across the material of Sam's shirt and he knows, knows it's supposed to be one _billion_ shades of wrong because those are _his hands,_ _His fingers_ wrapping like snakes around that first button and popping it open, jumping further down to unhook the next one and the next. _His touch_ dragging against the warm flat of his chest, catching a pert nipple between strong fingers and stroking, pulling. It's all him, but it isn't. It's nauseating. But he likes it. And that's the fucked up part of it. That's what tears Sam's brain apart like raw meat. That's what leaves him hating everything that he is.

"Don't fight me Sam, don't fight _us. This._ " A hand rubs down the whole of his stomach, the other massaging the throbbing muscles of his chest. Sam suppresses the gnawing want clawing from deep inside him, wherever he is in all this. He just can't tell anymore. Is it Lucifer making his dick swollen and heavy like this? Like someone without morals? Without shame? Or is he really just that twisted to find pleasure in the Devil assaulting him with his own hands?

"You can't lie to me, Sam." And God, how can it sound so much like he's speaking right into Sam's ear? "You can't tell me you don't want this."

And Sam really can't. Can't do anything but scream false pleas into his own head without a voice. How can he expect Lucifer to stop, with his body is reacting in all the wrong ways?

The Devil reaches down to cup the mound in Sam's jeans, rubbing hard circles into the rough fabric with strong fingers. A groan escapes Sam's throat, low and guttural and purely animal. It isn't Sam. But fuck, it is.

Lucifer grabs at his belt buckle, unhooking the metal clasp and pulling the leather straps apart from each other. The button of Sam's jeans is easy. The zipper, even easier. All that separates him from pure fucking ecstasy is the thin cotton barrier of Sam's boxers. And God, Sam begs. Begs him not to go there. Not to make this the real thing that Sam would be damned if he'd admit to. But Satan doesn't hear that. Or he doesn't care.

A hand reaches down and wraps around Sam's shaft, cradling it in its warm palm and relishing its heftiness, its girth. It squeezes around, thumb extending to massage the very tip, oozing with something sticky and familiar. All the heat in the world rushes to Sam's face. He's been here before, like this. But somehow now, with the Devil in control, it's maybe a trillion times more satisfying. And Sam hates that. God he fucking hates that.

Lucifer pulls all of Sam out completely, letting the cool air lick chills across his length and run violent shivers down his spine. And Sam perks up immediately in his own hand, blooding pulsing through him like a shot.

"Tell me this is what you want," the Devil whispers deep in Sam's chest. "Tell me this is everything you've ever wanted." His hand drags along the bottom of Sam's swelling rod, making sure to caress the soft curve of his sack with unfairly kind touches. A finger extends to trace odd circles into the weighing meat, the other hand reaching down to curve around Sam and stroke him bare palmed. Sam's body reacts to the kneading touches accordingly, bucking into his own hand with desperate thrusts.

"Look at you, Sam," Lucifer says, eyes trained on his work in the mirror. "Look at _us._ "

By now he's fisting the whole of Sam's cock with hard, starving strokes, squeezing and pulling between fingers slick with pre cum, making just enough friction to drive himself mad. Sam feels the release building armies of fire behind his eyelids, making him lightheaded. It's going to end this way. Sam knows it is, knows he can't stop it. Knows he wouldn't if he could.

Another fast, hard jerk and Sam spews his hot mess over his hand, painting the dark mirror in white and shamefulness.

Lucifer falls to Sam's knees, breath catching the whole of his throat with every inhalation, sweat beading down like watery fire. "Look at us, Sam," he says again between shudders. "Look at what we are."

 

And Sam does look. At his face, at Lucifer's face just underneath it. Sam looks at everything he is and everything he will become with the Devil riding his skin. He looks.

 

He just doesn't understand what he sees.


End file.
